The Empathy Machine
by The Ultimate Person
Summary: "You made her fall in love with a mask. You can't help but feel ashamed of that. Nevertheless, it's a mask you'll continue to wear, one that you'll guard with every fiber of your being, if it means keeping her ... even if you don't deserve her." Souji/Naoto, character study


**AN:** This turned out to be a lot longer than I had expected. This one-shot was largely inspired by the fic "Ruthenium" by leaflet, in that I also wrote it in a 2nd pov and used the parameters as a narrative device. (And of course, the fact that there's Souji/Naoto) While I highly suggest reading Ruthenium, which really does an amazing job at looking at the MC's psyche, I tried my best to take my own direction and make my own insights with this fic. Enjoy.

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You're an idiot.

It's almost alarming how frequently you've been telling yourself that recently. But in all honesty, it's becoming less and less of an accusation of self-loathing, and more and more of just an undeniable fact. Aside from all the confusion and internal bickering, it's the one of the few things that you can be completely certain of anymore. And certainty has something you have been definitely lacking in lately. Even if it's not the best thing to think about in the generic self-help book of happy thoughts, it was a title you could cling to. A word you can use to describe yourself. An identity.

You are Souji Seta. And you are perfect. Or at least you're supposed to be. That is all you really need to be concerned with.

And why would you not be? Your diligence is as rock solid as the mightiest of mountains, refusing to back down or wear out. Your courage is as heroic as that of old legends, full of bravery and heart. Your knowledge could be consider almost sagely, with an extensive memory and an exam score unmatched by mere mortals. Your expression is enthralling, able to get you through any situation with charm and eloquence. And your understanding is comparable to saints, as it can see even the smallest speck of truth in a world fog. You're the very definition of a born leader. A hero. You've read the stories with your type in it. The hero deserves everything. The hero works the hardest, sacrifices the most, and expects the least out of everyone. So if he wants something, doesn't he, at least, deserve it?

You're understanding whispers to you, in a soft, yet harsh tone that still sends jolts down your spine. It says not her. Anything but her.

Of course. That's why you're here in the first place right? All because a certain short blue haired androgynous girl that's just been making your life all sorts of confusing lately.

What's wrong with you anyways? You make it seem like it's a big surprise. Of course you don't deserve her. You shouldn't deserve anything. The second your hands beheld the wild card, you became nothing but a messiah. You will be perfect, you will help people, and you will save the day. You'd be nothing but a fool to think that you had any worth otherwise. Without us, you are empty, you're parameters say in legion, reminding you time and time again what you really are, unless you get any silly ideas about breaking out of your mask. Yes, you suppose, it's for the best that you stop thinking of such things. Just smile, nod, and say that you accept them. You need them anyways. It's for the best if you just didn't make a fuss about it.

But ... Why not her?

You ask too many questions with answers that you're already aware of. But you still legitimately wonder about that. In external sense it'd be ridiculous for you to say this, unless you were just begging to have a gun at your forehead, but internally, on an emotional level, she's harmless. You'd say that she's only made your life all the better

Sometimes, you'll be walking down a street, passing by the shopping district or the Samagawa River. It could be brightest and warmest day or even a cold dank one, hampered by rainfall. It doesn't really matter either ways. You like the walk. You like the countryside scenery and the fresh air that comes with it. You like the tired old men, the air-headed little girls, and the funky students that pass you by. You like the peace and quiet that comes with living in a small town. But most of all, you like the comforting hand that she places in your own, grasping tightly, warmly, and without hesitation.

At first, she use to be tentative when it came to even being even physically close to you, in worry that the entire town would catch whiff of something more than friendship. Nevertheless, you smiled, you nodded, and you walked with her, you're enthralling expression demanding that you keep that hand clenched tightly to your side. Yet, despite that, something else unclenched your hand, leaving it hanging innocently off to the side. And you gave her a choice. It was an odd feeling, considering how you're so use to diving headfirst into every situation, taking the initiative when everyone else was too afraid to, and being use to people following you're every choice. But in this case, it was different. You let her decide. You wanted to let her go at her own pace and you didn't want her to confine your whims and yours alone. It was odd, but it was a good feeling. And soon enough, you could feel her inch closer and closer as days went by, until you could feel a ghost of a touch prod at your fingers, with precaution, but with wanting nevertheless. Slowly, finger by finger, minute by minute, you could feel her hand fully encompass yours. She initiated. And you responded. You didn't mind. You actually kind of liked it. To this day, when you walk down the street with her, your hands would simply cling to each-other, without a single thought put into it, and not a single care given to whatever stares you received in return.

To be honest though, you'd be lying if you said that you minded the attention.

So you wonder; why not her? Why aren't you aloud to be happy with just her? Your rock-solid diligence prods angrily in the back of your head, lacking in subtly or shame. She'll ruin you, it says. She'll ruin all those heavily built walls you spent years toiling to make. She'll ruin that perfect mask that you've spilt blood to craft. She'll ruin all those carefully constructed facades that garnered you all this respect in the first place. She isn't worth it. Because after she's tore you down, once she's gotten to the soft meat hidden behind your shell, she'll be tired of you. Disappointed. Betrayed, even. She'll realize that you're not the perfect Souji Seta everyone makes you out to be. And even with the world on your shoulders, she'll break that heart of yours, as easily as she would glass. Because she would leave you. She'd leave you the second she found the real you, the same way anyone else would.

Face it. You never had a shadow because you already are one. A mere ghost of the perfection you strive to be. You're diligent because that's the only way to succeed. You're courageous only because everyone else is so afraid. You're knowledgeable only because you're scared of people thinking you're dumb. You're expressive only because no one will listen to you otherwise. You're understanding only because you can't even understand yourself. You live for other people. You made yourself so that all you could do was serve the needs of other people. And while most would say you're way of living is self-less, the only word that comes to your mind is masochistic. Because even when it hurts, even when you feel so hollow and empty, you realize that you need to be this way. The second you start living for yourself, the second you start thinking about your interest, your needs, and your feelings on the matter, you're no longer the idol everyone looks up to. You're just another measly human, with flaws like the rest of them.

You made her fall in love with a mask. And you can't help but feel ashamed of that. Nevertheless, it's a mask you'll continue to wear, one that you'll guard with every fiber of your being, if it means keeping her ... even if you don't deserve her.

The two of you are sitting next to each other at a table, working on an important project or an investigation case. In all honesty, it's hard to tell the difference anymore. Out of nowhere, you decide to ask about her. Naoto being Naoto, was much like a classified case file when it came to dealing with most people, bound and hidden away in a storage cabinet where it will hopefully never be found, location only known to a trusted few. It was full of mystery, intrigue, and the occasional embarrassing childhood incident, and you couldn't help but want to decipher and want to know more about it. Luckily, in your case, she was much more willing to open up to you than you had ever expected.

You ask her if she's been in any relationships prior to the one you two are in now. Naturally, she blushes, a light scarlet hue that she tries to hide by tilting her hat down and looking aside. She stutters a bit, but as always, manages to compose herself quickly, telling you that no, that she's never had before and wonders why you decided to throw out such an odd question. You shrug, partly because you were truly curious. Partly because you felt like you needed someone to compare yourself to. Of course, you don't tell her that because she'd simply say that you're being foolish and that comparing yourself to another was the same as holding yourself up to the same standard as a shadow, something she knew all too well. Still, you wonder. You wonder because you want to know if there's someone out there that'd be better for her than you.

To you, the answer is obvious. To her, not so much, being that her scope on emotional and social queues are a bit narrower. It's hard to imagine how anyone could ignore a hulking 6'1 bleached haired first year pining over you.

It couldn't be more obvious if Kanji climbed the tallest of mountains and confessed at the top of his lungs ... Which might be the only way she would realized it. And now he'll never get the chance to, seeing how you already swept her for yourself within the span of only a month or two. To this day, your understanding holds it against you, reminding you time and time again that you betrayed Kanji. That you took your friend's trust and shattered it for your own selfish interests, taking the girl that you should've helped him approach. Your courage hangs its head in shame for ever bolstering you enough to confess your love in the first place. Because for one moment, for one selfish moment, you let yourself get carried away, and you made a decision that'd make you happy. And what's wrong with that? Don't you deserve to be happy? Naoto isn't a trophy to be won, she cares for you and chose you to be in her life, isn't that enough?

No, your knowledge says, butting in and giving it to you blunt and straight. It isn't, because Kanji was always better for her than you. Kanji has weight to him. Kanji has depth. Despite being rough around the edges, he's sweet, he's thoughtful, and he has one hell of a heart. He's passionate over arts and crafts. He obviously cares about Naoto and would most likely never do anything to harm her. Most of all, he accepts himself. Sure, a lot of it was thanks to yours truly, but at the very least, he's learned to accept himself and embrace that things that truly make him unique. Could the same be said for you? Someone so blank, so empty, that there's almost nothing to "accept" in the first place? What do you have? What are you passionate about? What do you have to give?

You grit your teeth. To that, you have nothing in response. Your own knowledge triumphs any other reason in terms of logic and just plain fact.

Apparently, you were looking quite glum there for second, because you notice that she's suddenly a lot closer to you then when you last paid attention. She leans in, more confidently than she ever would have months ago. "You worry too much," she says reaching out, her fingers tracing the outline of your jaw when she notices your downcast expression. Something tells you that she knows the meaning behind your question a lot more than you expected her to. Nevertheless, she chuckles a bit, shaking her head all the while. "Then again, I do too. I guess that just makes us both fools."

You can't help but smile, letting her fingers lean you in and lead you into a kiss. Oh, what a dangerous decision it was, encouraging her to take initiative. And yet, you still can't help but feel like it was the best one you've made yet.

It makes you wonder though; why did she choose you? It couldn't simply be because you chose her. People don't just magically fall in love with you when they realize that you have an interest in them. It doesn't work that way. It definitely wasn't because she was desperate. Naoto is nowhere near being a hopeless romantic, throwing herself at the nearest knight in shining armor. Quite the opposite in fact, making it an effort to avoid any sort of romantic advances whatsoever. And it couldn't be because you tried to protect her in a supposedly dangerous situation. While admirable, it isn't something you can build a relationship on. Perhaps then, it was your courage, your knowledge, and your diligence that got to her. Yes, those are three very respectable traits that many people would like in a partner. That would make sense.

Because you seem perfect. Because you think the hardest, fight the hardest, and work the hardest. Even when you hate it, even when want to quit, you force yourself to do it anyway, because no one else will. That in itself, is something to swoon over. It's a nice cover up for any personality you'd be lacking in otherwise. When you think about it, you're actually quite the hypocrite. You want nothing more than for her to relinquish her life story, letting you into her world. And yet, you cower at the idea of letting her into your own, lest she come across something uninteresting or something not up to her standard. You're worried that she'll grow too accustomed to the fake you, and ultimately feel disappointed once she stumbles upon bits of you and your true self. When she discovers your real thoughts and feelings, not the ones that you formulated simply to appease others. When she discovers your weaknesses, your follies, your cracks in pavement. When she walks away. It scares you a lot more than you'd like to admit.

What's worse is that you can feel yourself slipping. As time goes on, you can almost feel the cracks appear on the walls you built, as you feel crumbles of it start to fall off. You almost revert to full-on panic. It was so subtle, so unexpected. But you should've known it would happen the second you said, "Because I love you." It's simply a natural occurrence of symbiosis, in which both parties start to mutually give without thinking about it. The last thing you want to do is enrapture her in a relationship of all take and no give. But it still terrifies you, because you realize that she's tearing you down slowly, brick by brick, and there's no way to stop it. Hell, a part of you even wants her to. You want that freedom, you want that feeling of complete and total trust, you want nothing more than to bulldoze these walls down and let her take all of you. But you won't. Because you can't. Because you don't know how to.

But like hell that would stop her from trying.

She tests your diligence more than anything else. That rock solid work ethic of yours that you've caught hundreds of fish and received countless envelope paper cuts for turns to putty when she's around. Whenever you bring her out on a fishing trip, you usually end up talking endlessly by the riverside as opposed to actually laying a finger on the fishing pool, much to the old fisherman's irritation. You can't count how many times you've stopped and felt a leap in your chest whenever you see her attend one of your basketball games even though she couldn't care less for sports, much to the annoyance of your teammates. And whenever you study together, you just can't seem to properly keep your hands or eyes to yourself, much to the ... Mixed feelings of your pint sized detective. Naturally, she'll remind you time and time again to get back to the task on hand, seeing as it's more important. Still, you and her would both be lying if you denied "distracting" each other now and then, when these study sessions became less and less about actually studying, and more and more about how quickly the two of you can clean yourselves up before Dojima gets home.

Your courage is becoming less constantly apparent. It makes sense, seeing as your nowhere near obtaining the nerves of steel all her favorite detective protagonist seem to possess. You realize how much of a detriment you must be to someone with a love of high places when you're still just barely getting past your fear of heights, which became painfully obvious the first time you attempted to climb a tree. She must've felt the way your hand slightly trembled in her own, as you stood at the gates of the Shirogane estate. You could only hope that her grandfather didn't notice when she introduced you to him. Worst of all, however, was the way that you jilted and stumbled over to the hospital, tears barely reaching over your eyes when you told her you were scared to walk inside that ER room again. That you were scared that you were never going to see your little cousin again. You still remember the way she leaned up on her tip toes, brushing away the tears as you melded into an embrace.

You worry that she'll realize that your knowledge is vastly inferior to her own. While you enjoy the idea of being seen as equals, you feel as though you're still far from it. You can still remember that feeling of frustration when you came across an intricate math problem, using methods and theorems you had long since forgotten, when given the same problem, she figured out in a snap. You could only marvel at the amount of information she's able to store in her head, from the exact date of the fall of the Byzantine Empire to each individual name of the victims of Jack the Ripper. And of course, you could only be stunned into silence whenever she corrected you on a minor technical information error that you were so sure of, until she lead through the books and sources proving otherwise. You've come to learn that the typical, "I knew that" excuse tends to wear thin on her.

She has this way of turning your so called "enthralling" expression into somewhat of a joke. While she would argue that she can be much more tongue tied than you could ever be, you can still feel it rub off on you. Last Valentine's Day was practically seared into your mind, as you anxiously stumbled about giving her a collection of books that you both talked about by the bookstore, as well as the chocolates you and Nanako made yourselves. Or some of the occasional times the two of you had gotten into a fight, when you said words that you never meant to say, and you let things slip that you never wanted to slip out. As well as the hours you'd spend afterwards telling her how sorry you were. And of course, you couldn't forget the several instances where you struggled to properly tell her how much you love her. Not just telling her that you do. But telling her how greatly, and why, and why she was so important to your life. And despite the several times you choked and stumbled on your own wording, you wonder if it simply makes you all the more endearing.

You'd say that your understanding was what really makes you stand out as a person to others, as someone to be admired by your peers. And yet, without effort, she manages to see through that, straight and clear. You realized that there's just some experiences that people go through that you will never understand, from completely losing a loved one to losing your own mental health, something she has experienced and seen. You've made decisions based on foggy analysis and blurred emotions as opposed to referring back to your own sense of sympathy and observation, leading you to almost murder a man via TV world out of sheer anger, while she begged you not to. You've made guesses based off of prejudice, you've assumed the worst in people you've never gotten to know before, and you've let your own simple judgment steer you farther and farther away from the truth until it was barely visible. And yet, she was still there all along, trying to lead you back onto the right path.

Maybe that's why you find _her_ so perfect; because she challenges every single facade you put up and mercilessly cuts through them. No matter how scared you get about her discovering more and more of your real self, you still relish in the idea that someone cares enough to learn about your life. That she wants to help you in return for everything you've done for her, and wants to learn more about you. That even through your pitfalls, your blunders, your damaging blows to your carefully maintained image, she's still there to pick you up, to mend you, even when it gets ugly. After all this time, after all these months she's stuck with you, you're still befuddled as to why exactly she stays with you, even when you both know that your falsely paraded perfection is nothing but fragile.

You decided to have a talk.

Actually, no. All you do is invite Naoto over with a slightly vague idea of the what you want to tell her, gathering up whatever bits of your ever so "heroic" courage you have left to do so, while she's the one that fully confronts you about it. You're in your room sitting on the sofa and she ask you if there's been anything bothering you lately. By the looks of it, you haven't been completely aware of your own actions as of lately. You've been quiet these past couple weeks. You've been acting a lot more distant than usual and it's gotten her and your friend's worried. They wonder why you've started acting so strangely contemplative and reclusive lately. While the rest of your friends want to help, they aren't really sure on how to approach you on the matter, leaving her to be most qualified one to do so. It's no surprise to you, seeing that no matter how good intentioned your friend's are, they're still mainly use to you helping them, and not the other way around. You don't blame them. That's just what they're use to. But still, the revelation plucks a bit hollow chord inside of you, which is relieved the second you feel her hand on your shoulder.

And then she looks at you. She's quite famous for having the most stoic and serious expression that someone as young as her could possibly have, giving off the vibe of a mature and a professional no-nonsense investigator. But she looks nothing like that now. Her face is full of concern, her eyes downcast on your own troubled expression, nervously biting the bottom of her lip all the while. You can tell that she knows when to drop her own carefully constructed mask, since she's comfortable enough around you to be able to. Because around you, she doesn't have to be what everyone else wants her to be, she doesn't have to live behind walls in fear of you leaving her. It's ironic really; the saint that's spent all his days helping people accept themselves still struggles to come to terms with himself. But at least she's here with you.

She squeezes your shoulder a bit. She wants you take your time. But she wants an answer.

At that moment, every single bit you pulls you apart, demanding different things from you. Your diligence tells you that you don't have to do this, that you'll persevere by keeping it all to yourself. Your courage refuses to encourage you further, withholding itself from letting you make another stupid confession. Your knowledge is making you rationalize the consequences, arguing that it's not worth it. Your expression begs you to change the subject, stray off, just anything else besides what you're doing now. Your understanding tells you that this is wrong, that you're not meant to do this, that you'll break down everything you've worked so hard to create. Each one is so loud and prominent that it becomes hard to think properly. They're all so strong and so essential to your life that you almost can't imagine not relying on them for once, especially since you spent so long working them to their highest potential, it seems impossible to turn them down now.

You've become so reliant on them. But you know that they aren't really you, they aren't what makes _you. _And for one moment, you clear your head, keeping it dead silent. You look for what you're feel. You want to tell her with your own words.

You tell her that you've always felt so out of place. You know that people look up to you, that they admire you. And they can expect so much from you because they know you'll always exceed that expectation. You tell her that you've developed a sort of a complex of having to be everything for everyone. Like you were meant to carry the world on your shoulders. You tell her that you get scared. That you feel yourself stretching against a mold, like your limbs are made out of nothing but putty and hanging wire. You're scared of losing yourself, but you're even more scared of not being "perfect" any more. You tell her that it hurts sometimes, feeling like you're going outside with a face that's not your own, but you tell yourself it's worth it. You learned that if you act the way people want you to, they'll love you for it.

You tell her that you feel like you made her fall in love with a mask, rather than an actual human being. That you're so damn scared that you'll slip up, that you'll show a weak spot at your core, and that she'll walk away from you. You tell her that you're afraid that if you don't work hard enough to maintain that perfection, you won't be the type of man she wants to be with anymore. Because you know that she doesn't have to hide anymore and you love her all the more for that. And you just wish that you could bring yourself to do the same.

You tell her that you don't want to be the perfect man for her anymore ... You just want to be a good one.

There's a silence. That happens a lot whenever you give long speeches. You really got to stop that. Still, you give her a moment to process what you just said. This is necessary, since you know that Naoto tends to take weight to your words and needs some time to analyze them properly. In this case, after making such a heavy emotional drop, you wouldn't be surprised if she had to leave and come back a few days later until she was able to formulate a proper response.

But she surprises you. The hand she kept on your shoulder slides down your arm until it reaches your wrist. Around it is the watch she made for you last Christmas, "1 mm" showing on the watch through a little green light. She can't help but smile, her thumb gliding over the surface of her craftsmanship, full of good memories. "The last time I made a watch for someone was for my grandpa's birthday," she says, her eyes transfixed on the watch. "He was starting to lose his eyesight, so it became harder for him to read most conventional clocks or wristwatches."

She tapped a bit on the surface, making a small tapping noise. "I made my first electronic watch, with big, wide numbers showing with the brightest light possible so that it made it easier for him to read. Of course, he loved it and he still wears it today, even though the craftsmanship of it is very rudimentary compared to my skills now." Slowly, she looks back up at you. She breaks into a small fit of laughter. "I just find it funny how years later, I make yet another watch for an important male figure in my life that's lost his sight."

You slightly tilt your head. You somewhat regret pushing aside your understanding, seeing as the point she's getting at goes completely over your head. Noticing your obvious confusion, she rolls her eyes, clasping both her hands around your watch. "I made this watch for a man I deeply respect and admire. This man succeeds at everything he does and everyone loves him, to the point where he may even seem perfect. But he's not. I've seen him struggle and fail and break down and make mistakes. A long time ago, I may have seen him as perfect once too, but it didn't take long for me to see past that. I actually believe that a lot of people can see past that by now." You look downwards with a slight amount of embarrassment. Of course. How silly of you to think that she wouldn't catch on.

She leans forward, trying to catch your downward gaze. "So why exactly do I love him, despite all that? Maybe because I believe that he genuinely loves helping people. That he has a vast love for humanity in general and can see the good in people that most tend to ignore. He tires himself out so much that he feels like he's neglected himself. But he still cares about people and their well-being and wants to see them grow, from lonely old ladies to misunderstood teenagers. Even when it all seems for nothing, even when it feels like he gets nothing in return, he still helps people. Not necessarily because he has to. But because he wants to. And it's alright if he gets tired or takes a break or thinks for himself. No one will hold anything against for just being human. He deserves to live his life, he deserves to love, and he deserves to be happy. Because after all he's done for everyone, it only makes sense that they'd want to pay him back with equal amount of love and support. He's looking for an acceptance that he's had all along." She leans her forehead against your own, close enough to point where she just has to whisper. "He's the type of man that thinks he has carry the world on his shoulders. The only thing he can't see is the fact that he doesn't have to do it alone."

You can feel here grasp tighten around your wrist, as her eyes remain locked into your own. You are, for lack of a better term, stunned speechless. Your head's surprisingly quiet as well. Your understanding remains silent. Your knowledge makes no objections. Your expression doesn't even try to cover up your surprise. It's almost as if, in this moment, they've finally decided to abandon you. Or perhaps, for once, you've decided to abandon them, for lack of necessity. You're not exactly sure. But to be honest, you really don't care. It's not like they were ever really you in the first place.

You close your eyes for a moment, taking in a deep breath. You slowly breathe back out while opening your eyes. You smile, almost sheepishly. "Well. I'm quite the idiot, aren't I?"

She smiles back. "As a certified professional, I'm not exactly in the position to deny that claim." Her hands come back up, caressing the sides of face. "But at least you're my idiot." You then kissed her for the first time without thinking that you didn't deserve it. Or that you didn't deserve her. Or that you didn't deserve to be this happy.

It was an odd relief, a peacefully quiet one as well, when you didn't hear any internal mulling. The hollow feeling of emptiness seemed to somewhat fade off. It was nice. It was something that you could definitely get used to. It was also a bit saddening, but you'd live on anyways. And you'll probably be happy without it.

You've to come terms with the fact that you're not perfect. But maybe, just a slight chance that maybe, you're not empty either. Because if you're living for someone, like a certain pint size detective, than at least you're living for something. And that's just about the best feeling in the world.


End file.
